Feels Like Sunday
by Gysecune
Summary: In the springtime shade, Gippal recalls a first meeting. Gippalai.
1. Sneeze

Disclaimer: I don't own FFX-2 or its respective characters. I can't think of anything inventive anymore for these things. Suck. XD

A/N: I'm always coming back to these two. Seriously, though, writing them makes me feel all gooey like a cookie. That was a really bad analogy. Please don't kill me.

Anyway, this is more of a collection of moments between Baralai and Gippal, rather than a chaptered fic. I'm going to post new additions as chapters for the sake of convenience, even though there is no main underlying plot that connects them all together. The only thing that they share in common is that they take place after Rumors (you don't have to read that to get this, though) and that these are all about Baralai and Gippal living together. Because they're just little moments and glimpses, most of them probably aren't going to be that long. The title comes from the fact that probably _every_ day away from Bevelle would feel like a Sunday to Baralai, because most people have Sunday off. I wonder if Sunday even exists there, though…? Whoops. Sometimes I talk too much.

Edit: Some paragraphs have been added near the end for a smoother transition. Whoot. :D

Sneeze

It was the flu, they told him.

The end times were near. Gippal was sure of it.

A sore throat, aching muscles, a runny nose, excruciating headaches and stomachaches, hacking coughs… And then there was the mother of all sickness related horrors – vomiting.

When Gippal relayed this information to many, many others at Djose Temple, he was given the same response every time. They all said it was the flu. (And kept at least several feet away from him.)

Gippal was convinced that Baralai just might have a devastating ailment that only _looked_ like the flu. His other theory was that it was some kind of freakish incurable disease. Maybe he was worrying too much. Other people sure seemed to think so.

…Nope. Probably not.

Baralai was so sick, it seemed like he was on the brink of –

Instinctively, he jerked his hand back as a searing sensation crept up his fingers. "Cred! (Shit!)" The spoon he had been stirring soup with clattered to the floor. Somehow he had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had managed to burn soup, widely regarded as the easiest thing ever to cook.

Muttering various obscenities in a combination of Al Bhed and Spiran, he frantically waved his burnt hand in the cold air and turned down the stove with the other. He shivered as he quickly spooned the vegetable soup into a bowl. It would be a good idea to get out of here as soon as possible. Gippal's breath came out in smoky little puffs, and the only part of his body that wasn't ice cold was his scalded hand.

The closest thing to a kitchen that Djose had was a tent outside. It was suggested pretty frequently by the few permanent residents there that some add-ons, such as a kitchen, be built. But it was _never_ that easy. Because Djose was a sacred temple, the Machine Faction was always having to consult Bevelle Temple, the very people that wanted nothing to do with them.

Trying to negotiate with the majority of the Yevonites was like playing with a finger trap. The more the Al Bhed pulled, the more they got set back.

And that was why he was now mentally bracing himself before opening the tent flap.

- - -

"Hey… Baralai?" Gippal kept his voice down to a whisper as the door creaked open, and he poked his head in. "You awake?"

"Yes," came the hoarse confirmation. "I can't sleep."

Gippal pushed the door open and was greeted by the stale, warm scent of illness that permeated the air as he walked in. The room was circular, bright and small – the exact opposite of Baralai's bedroom. There wasn't much furniture except for the bed off to the side, which was currently occupied by a certain not-so-healthy person.

Though Gippal preferred his own room over Baralai's, he couldn't deny that he missed the huge bed that Baralai used to own. His was enough to fit both of them, but Gippal was the type of sleeper who rolled all around. A couple of nights ago, he had had a dream about swimming and kicked Baralai off the bed.

He bet that ten people could fit on Baralai's old bed.

Well, that definitely raised some…interesting thoughts. Gippal shook his head to clear it of all perverted thoughts before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Baralai was sick, after all. And it wasn't like he was sex-deprived or anything. Of the several days he had been here…

Okay, he had always suspected that _maybe_ Baralai had a bit of a thing for having sex in public after numerous encounters with his desk. Now that suspicion was completely confirmed. Completely.

…He had to concentrate on helping Baralai get better.

"I got you some soup."

Baralai pulled himself up, dragging his back up against the headboard. The sheets covering him slid down to his waist, revealing his bare chest. He regarded Gippal with heavy-lidded, sleepy eyes (though he couldn't get to sleep because of how horrible he was feeling, he was still exhausted), partially obscured by bits of tousled hair that weren't held back by the blue band usually in place. Gippal took one look at how flushed and sweaty his dark skin had become and set a palm on his forehead and the back of his neck. He was hot to the touch.

"Shit… You're burning up," Gippal lamented.

"Mm." Baralai closed his eyes, leaning into the hand at the back of his neck. "Your hands are cold, but they feels nice."

Gippal smiled, rubbing small circles into the flesh there and letting his fingers creep up to play with his hair. Taken by the content expression he wore, he softly pressed his lips to Baralai's.

"You're going to get sick if you keep doing that," Baralai warned, but his eyes weren't cautionary at all.

"Me?" Gippal raised an eyebrow. "I have an immune system of steel."

"I give it until the end of today before you sneeze," Baralai predicted.

"You're on." Because there was no way he was going to get sick just from that little kiss. They hadn't even swapped spit since Baralai started saying his throat hurt, which was this morning. Speaking of sore throats… "So, do you want this or what?" Gippal held out the bowl of soup. He had a feeling that it would make Baralai's throat feel better, at least for a short while.

"Thank you…" Baralai took it from him but hesitated, studying its contents. "What kind is it?"

"Baralai, I _slave_ over an open stove _and_ burn my hand, and you dare to question –"

The soup was forgotten. Baralai quickly interrupted Gippal's mock indignant diatribe with, "You burnt your hand?" He snatched Gippal's wrist and began examining the hand in question.

"Isn't it terrible?" Gippal propped himself up with his free arm, a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth.

"Atrocious," Baralai agreed before giving the burn – if it could even be called that – a tiny kiss. "Better?"

"I'm miraculously healed."

Baralai glanced down at the soup again. "I like vegetable."

"Yeah, I figured that spicy stuff wouldn't feel all that great on your throat," Gippal explained, bending down over the edge of the bed to take his boots off. That accomplished, he scooted next to Baralai until they were side-by-side, arms touching.

Now he couldn't stop himself from touching Baralai all the time. Even if it was something small like passing silverware, he let his fingers slip a little, just for that brief moment of contact. He didn't know how he survived during all that time when Baralai was busy at Bevelle.

Baralai made a calm, pleased sound that led him away from his thoughts. It was further muffled by the spoon in his mouth. Gippal took that to mean that he liked it.

He didn't _have_ to admit that he had only reheated it and hadn't technically made it. Hey, Baralai hadn't asked.

Gippal watched as he ate at his typical, unbelievably slow pace, but Baralai's gaze was unfocused and almost blank. Just one of the strong winter gusts outside could send him rolling.

Then the tip of Baralai's tongue darted out to lick up a stray droplet of soup on his lips. Gippal had to wonder how he could be so sensual without even realizing it and while doing the most normal things.

Groping sick people was somehow less acceptable than groping non-sick ones, he had a feeling.

Baralai, though fairly dazed, was not so incoherent that he was oblivious to the fact that Gippal had been scoping him out for about five minutes now.

They silently shared a smile – Gippal's a fond one, and Baralai's… Well, his came across as being kind of drunken. Gippal wasn't sure if it was just because he always found him to be cute no matter what the circumstance, but he thought it was endearing. In a bizarre, he-was-getting-really-worried-about-Baralai sort of way.

Baralai rested his head on Gippal's shoulder, spoonfuls of soup disappearing slower than when he had first started eating. It seemed that he was getting tired. Gippal was hoping that he could manage falling asleep in spite of his persistent symptoms.

"What time is it?" Baralai asked as he finished up the last of the soup and set the bowl on the floor beside the bed.

"I think it's noon."

Baralai leaned against Gippal's arm, closing his eyes. "I'm never in bed at this time," he mumbled. "It feels strange…"

What felt strange was taking care of Baralai. He was always so self-sufficient – They _both_ were. The last time he could remember being in this position was after they had been shot, but then, Baralai had cared for him, too. In a weird sort of way, Gippal kind of liked looking out for him. It was a feeling that he couldn't describe.

He could have laughed then, to think of his sixteen-year-old self before he met Baralai. Depending on others was taking chances – He knew that then, and he knew that now. But there were some risks worth taking.

He regretted nothing.

Minutes passed, and Gippal was satisfied just to sit next to him, breathing in his scent. It smelled less clean and spicy than usual and more like the musty scent of sickness, but the traces were enough for him. Then it occurred to him that Baralai hadn't said anything in a long time. He should at least check on him.

"Baralai… Feel any better?" Gippal gave him a gentle nudge. "Baralai…?"

He was asleep, his long, dark lashes brushing against feverish skin. His soft lips were parted slightly, and Gippal couldn't resist tracing along the bottom curve with a cautious fingertip. When he saw Baralai like this, he couldn't breathe. He was so beautiful that it knocked the air out of his lungs.

Gippal sneezed.


	2. Eyes

Disclaimer: I don't own FFX-2 or its respective characters.

A/N: This is my meager offering after I've been gone so long. Don't hate. XD This chapter is dedicated to anyone who makes the same error Baralai does in this. Okay, I admit it. I've done it, too, when thinking about Gippal. Oh, and there will be another chapter to this. It'll probably be longer, and it'll probably be rated higher. "Probably" because it's all up in my brain right now. :D Warning: Baralai as seen by infatuated!Gippal.

Thanks to: The RyRy, Karyta, fightingcomet, Samurai Bishie Queen, Yonaka Niji, marla22, Renn, Corrupt Innocence, and TheDonutMistress.

Eyes

Green.

As Gippal came closer, trudging through the sand that he was already quite familiar with, he realized that it was a coat. There was only one person here, as far as he could tell, but this was the place he had been assigned to meet his other squad members. Then they were to immediately launch into a drill.

Steps away from the figure seated on ruins, Gippal stopped. He was apparently unnoticed by this person, whose head was tilted back as he or she (Gippal was going to go with a he, though) observed the sky. The white hair led him to believe that he was going to be teamed up with someone old. Maybe he was senile and that was why he hadn't noticed him yet.

Gippal opened his mouth, about to utter some kind of greeting – a "hey" seemed appropriate here – when the person, probably sensing being watched, turned around.

The words never made it past Gippal's lips.

He was met with deep brown eyes, framed by long, dark eyelashes. Far from being old, this was someone who appeared to be around his own age. The color of his hair was apparently just an unusual feature that made his smooth, tan skin stand out all the more. Gippal was so busy studying the elegant curves of his face and that full mouth with its slightly parted lips that he forgot he was outright _staring_.

And he forgot to be self-conscious. People would sooner shoot an Al Bhed than tell them their name – Hadn't that always been what he'd said?

Then there was the small matter of his eye. When people first met him, their attentions would linger on that portion of his face. The more polite ones would look away, trying to their best to avoid any eye contact. The ruder ones asked how he got it, to which he would shrug and casually brush it off as an "accident."

Secretly, he had always been bothered by this but had never told.

But this… He was so caught off guard that he had no time to apply his veneer of confidence.

It was one moment in which all was still and perfect, and then they averted their gazes at the same time. Gippal found his feet in the same second he found his breath, and he quickly discovered that it took some effort to walk as casually as he could toward this person. A person whose name he didn't even know yet.

The silence that ensued after Gippal sat beside him was unbearable. After all, people would sooner shoot an Al Bhed than tell them their –

"My name's Baralai."

Gippal was struck by his voice and even his name but managed to reply, "I'm Gippal," without sounding like too much of an idiot. He didn't know where his usual suaveness had gone, but he wanted it _back_.

Partly as an excuse to look him over again, partly because he felt he should keep talking, Gippal asked, "Where're you from?"

"Bevelle."

Gippal was sure if he listened hard enough, he could hear the warm, fuzzy feeling inside of him sputtering and choking as it fought for its last breath of air. As Gippal comprehended this fatal, condemning answer – of all the places, Bevelle? – Baralai cast inquisitive glances in every direction.

"Weren't there supposed to be two others with us?"

Gippal shrugged. "That's what I heard."

"Maybe we're early," Baralai suggested.

"Maybe _they're_ late. I'm never early for anything. Trust me on this."

The corner of Baralai's mouth twitched – just slightly, but Gippal caught it. Though it was a brief reaction, Gippal found himself wanting to elicit it again.

Another moment of silence. Seconds into observing the clear desert sky, Gippal decided to succumb to the burning urge to sneak a glimpse of Baralai from the corner of his eye.

Only to find that Baralai had beat him to it.

Gippal looked away so fast that he almost jerked his head, too, which would have been a very unsubtle thing to do. And he _was _trying to be subtle. Thankfully, he didn't appear to be the only flustered one. When Gippal allowed his gaze to drift back, he noticed a faint redness (he had never thought it would've shown up on such dark skin) creeping up into Baralai's face. Baralai slipped a hand up over his skin, a palm over his mouth and fingers splaying across flushed cheeks, in what Gippal guessed was an attempt to disguise his embarrassment. To cover it up further, Baralai let out a small cough.

Letting some relieved laughter crawl into his voice, Gippal couldn't help but ask, "What is it?" even though he already knew the answer.

He expected some lie about having a cough or being sick. Not the truth.

"I've…never seen eyes like yours."

Gippal couldn't bring himself to correct him.

- - -

Green.

Gippal clutched a fistful of cool grass, eye fluttering open, taking in where he was. He was sprawled out on his back, midsection underneath a machine he had been working on. The sun beat down on his face, arms, and calves, which were mercifully tan enough to be mostly unaffected. At the arrival of balmy spring weather, Gippal had found it difficult to resist shucking off his boots and rolling up his pant legs.

Thoughts drifting pleasantly back to the dreamed memory, Gippal focused on the sky, different from the desert one he had grown to know as a child. This sky was cloudier. As always, he was hoping for rain.

Gippal was about to push away the remaining residue of his sleepiness and get back to work when he heard someone approaching, footsteps brushing against the grass. Just because he wanted to, Gippal decided to feign sleep, no matter how unfavorable sleeping on the job looked. His eyelid slid open only the slightest bit so that it wouldn't be obvious.

Baralai's boots came into view. And here Gippal had been so frequently reminded of his terrible poker face.

The crunch of grass was loud in his ears as Baralai knelt beside him. Warm breath beat against his face, quickening his pulse, as Baralai pressed the softest of kisses to his lips. Softer still, those lips brushed against his ear, close enough that he would be sure to hear a whispered request.

"Open your eyes."


End file.
